Tired - oh, so tired!!

Our puppy (who turned 6 months on Sunday, by the way) seems to have a very well-developed protective instinct. Apparently, this is quite rare in Border Terriers. I chock it up to the closeness of his relationship to me and the children. He has slept on the foot of Don's and my bed for the last several weeks but, after our camping trip, moved to the Oriental carpet on the floor of my side of the bed.

During the night, he'll jump up, bark furiously, run down the hall in pursuit of an intruder, then return to curl into a ball and growl for 1/2 hour or so. The problem is with the definition of "intruder". He seems to think that the dishwasher is an intruder, as is the wind blowing past our bedroom windows or the rain hitting the roof.

Last night, three different intruders interrupted his sleep. His barking and pursuit of the intruder interrupted Don's and my sleep. His growling for untold periods of time inbetween his intruder pursuits pretty well ensured that there was no possibility of sleep for me. Finally, in desperation, I kenneled him. Then Don and I laid in bed listening to him growl and moan for at least an hour.

Sleep continues to elude me. Between heat exhaustion from camping, severe stomach cramps for several nights as a result of the heat exhaustion, three charlie-horses in one leg (one right after the other) in the course of one night (most likely a result of the heat exhaustion and the loss of all the potassium in my body), and Donovan's heighthened sense of the need to protect us, I'm beginning to feel like a new mother again.

We're hoping our puppy will soon grow out of his understanding of intruder and begin to pursue only burglars instead of ANYTHING and EVERYTHING that goes bump in the night.

That and some bananas and maybe, just maybe, I'll get some sleep.

Over-committed

We just completed humpday in our Vacation Bible School at our church. It started on Monday morning. I'm helping and needed to be there at 8:30 a.m., requiring us to leave home by 8:00.

As I drag through the week, trying desperately to finish unpacking and doing laundry in the few hours each day I'm home, I kick myself for committing to work immediately following camping for 4 days. I'm a glutton for punishment.

It's not that I can't say "no". It's just that I don't.

When I was younger, I was very quick to pop off the "n" word. But as I've aged and the Lord has filled my spirit with thankfulness for all He's done for me, I'm overwhelmed with a desire to serve him and others whenever possible. The "possible" word is really my problem. I still think I'm 18 and ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE for the young.

So I over-commit myself. I plan too many things for too short a time. I spread myself and my family w-w-w-w-ay too thin.

I've realized over the last 6 months or so, in the process of trying to dig myself out of the holes I've dropped into because I take on too much, that my immediate reaction when asked to do something is always, "Sure!! I can do that." It's not until later, when I take time to think through how I'm going to accomplish it, that I realize I should have said no.

Friends will call and ask if I can possibly keep their children. They kindly explain why they need help and I'm overcome with the need in their lives and the realization that they would do the same for me in an instant, without any thought to their own situation.

"Sure. I can do that," I spout off, then realize that I have my own plus two or three others that I'll be taking to my OB/GYN appointment with me.

I'm joking, of course. It's not usually my OB/GYN - it's my Family Practice doctor. And he ought to understand. After all, he treats families.

Or someone will call and ask if I can cook a meal for a friend who's just had a baby or is on bedrest. How many meals were prepared for me during and after my pregnancies by caring friends?

"Sure. I can do that," I quickly respond, only later realizing that I'm hosting a potluck in my backyard the same night, starting an hour before the meal is to be delivered to my friend and requiring several hours of set-up prior to my guests arriving.

The problem isn't related to lack of knowledge or not checking my calendar. I look at the dates, see what's listed already for then, and briskly ascertain that another thing is CERTAINLY possible - if I plan well, if I prepare in advance, if I take along lots of toys.

So my husband patiently waits for his dinner. The children dig through the dryer looking for clean underwear. And I stay up until 11:30 folding clothes and putting away paper plates and plasticware as I carefully unpack each bag.

By the end of the week, I should be caught up. And by the time VBS is over, I'm sure I'll think it was well worth the strain and effort.

After all, nothing worth having comes cheaply, I keep reminding myself.

Battle over Naptime

Daelyn has reached that awkward napping stage. He has to have a daily nap or he's violent, aggressive and nasty. But he doesn't want to go to sleep, fights it with everything in him, and knows every trick in the book to keep himself hanging on by a thread, refusing to let sleep carry him away.

Both my other two children reached this stage. Yet, even now, at 9 and 7, if I lie down with them, they fall asleep, like yesterday. We just don't do this very often because I can't lie down with everyone at one and the older children just don't want to waste their time napping.

Today, I laid down with Daelyn. I told him a very interesting story about a naughty puppy that ran away from home to escape discipline, then ran back home to escape danger. We snuggled and I tried to be very still to lull him into slumber. No chance. He wiggled, played with his toes, scratched the wall, tugged on my ear. I threatened. No help. He cried, decided he was too hot under the sheet, pulled off his socks, and played with his stuffed animals. I spanked (just one swat). No help. He screamed, pouted, scratched his knee, and practiced opening his eyes as wide as possible. Finally, in desperation, I grabbed him and wrapped my arms around him, holding him gently but firmly to keep him from moving constantly. He yelled at me, frowned, maneuvered his arms (the only loose parts) into all kinds of wild gesticulations, then finally settled down and, within 3 minutes, was sound asleep.

Now, you may wonder why I persist. But if the child falls asleep that quickly when still, he needs a nap. He just can't seem to still himself.

The situation has gotten much worse since summer started. When brother and sister were in school, he knew naptime was a daily routine and he needed to settle down. The quicker he fell asleep, the quicker he was up and able to do fun stuff. But I've slacked off since the beginning of summer and he's had many days (more than I care to admit) of no naps - and we've all paid the price for that.

I'm working very hard at getting him back into his routine. Plus, he's still exhausted from camping - late nights, NO naps, extreme heat, and no end to fun stuff to do. This morning, he woke up around 6:30 mean as a snake. Even his sister commentd how desperately he needed a good nap. In addition to punching and kicking his brother, he screamed at me for half an hour that he wasn't going to Vacation Bible School this morning.

Since I'm working at VBS and Daddy's not on vacation this week, he had no choice. Dane tried to explain to him and got wolloped for his trouble.

So, we push through and force the nap issue. Now the house is quiet. Daelyn is fast asleep, Donovan's worn out from a long walk and resting peacefully at my feet. Deanna and Dane have run up to Grandma's for a game of cards, and I'm thankful I persisted.

I just hope this season doesn't last two long. I'm older now and my patience is running thin.

Goodbye!

Hi, ho, off we go. We'll be sleepin' in the woods tonight.

Two days ago, when we checked the weather forecast, they were expecting rain all weekend. I just checked it again - cloudy with an possible occasional shower Friday night and Saturday night. Clear days. Winds at 5 - 10 mph. Perfect for camping.

I can't wait to get there and start enjoying the outdoors.

Camping coming

We leave in the morning for a 4-day camping trip. Just how much summer can you fit into one 3-month period?

Swimming, matinees, beach trips, eating out, playing cards, spending time with friends, and camping, too. I decided this year that I was going to take a summer vacation, as well, so I've battled to accomplish my stream-lined chores in the morning and reserved the afternoon for playtime.

My children are young for such a short time. I've decided that, even though this may not be an extraordinary summer in terms of trips, I want it to have extraordinary memories of fun and relaxation.

Tonight I pack, tomorrow I set up camp. Then I sit back in my camp chair and listen while the children splash in the lake and laugh as they call to each other.

I'll be lulled to sleep by the sound of water lapping at the bank and the crickets playing their mournful song. I'll wake to damp dew on the ground and a fire that needs to be remade, then enjoy the smell of coffee cooking over an open fire while I spend some early-morning time with my Lord.

Four days of peace, rest, and camping. Then back to reality and Vacation Bible School.

Hope you all have as wonderful a weekend as we're planning. We'll eat a few s'mores for each of you as we sing softly around the campfire tomorrow night.

Sisters

My sister called this morning. She said, "Okay, Trish (family name), I have a cup of coffee in my hand and some free time and I thought we could have a nice chat for a change."

This kind of conversation was a daily occurrence until a few months ago. My sister, at the ripe old age of 48, began school again. In the days before marriage and children, she went to Tech School and got her Associates Degree in Secretarial Science. But that was a long time ago, and not useful for employment at this stage in her life. She decided to go back to school and study medical terminology, a field that she can use to supplement the family income from home.

Our daily visits over coffee ceased to exist and, boy, have I missed them and her. It's not as if she disappeared from my life. I've continued to visit but the visits have been somewhat less than thorough and very few and far between. So I was thrilled with my call this morning.

We talked for about 1 1/2 hours. We caught up on most of our current life stuff. It was wonderful and reminded me of how special the relationship of "sister" is. I have friends that don't have sisters or that have a large age difference between themselves and their sisters and don't have the benefit of the close friendship that I experience. No one can address a problem in my life with quite the clarity of a sister. No one knows me as well as that woman who has stood beside me for all 45 years of my life. No one is able to look past my shortcomings like the sibling who recognizes all too poignantly that her shortcomings are being looked past, as well. In short, there's nothing like a sister, or the visits we have over the phone.

God bless my sisters, all 3 - the one in California expecting her third grandchild, the one struggling to begin a new career as a Realtor, and the one back in school and fighting to make her mind function the way it did at 20. I love them each and every one.

A Father's Day Tribute

One of the most important things you taught me was the importance of laughter - not to take myself too seriously, to use humor to diffuse a tense situation, to look at the world and realize that I'm just here temporarily and nothing it has to throw at me can move me off my course and laugh at that realization.

You taught me to love my husband, to cling to him, even if that requires forsaking everything and everybody except our Lord.

You taught me to budget. You showed me by example how not to live beyond my means and how to value what the Lord provided for us. You trained me to live simply and not demand the best of things. You ingrained in me the idea that money is here to serve us, not the other way around.

You showed me how to love my children by the way you loved me. You always took time for me, taking me fishing, talking with me, listening more than anything else. You valued me and proved that time and again by putting me before your own pursuits. When I was involved in something, you supported it wholeheartedly and completely. I was never left to wonder if Daddy would be there when I needed him.

You taught me about business. As a young child, you talked about working relationships and the importance of honesty and integrity in everything I did. I watched your example of arriving at work early and working hard all day. As I grew older, I came to you for much-needed advice in business matters, and you always steered me towards the right answer.

You taught me about cars. You made sure that I always knew how to change a tire, check tire pressure and oil and water levels. You explained that you didn't want me to be at the mercy of some man if my car ever broke down on the side of the road. You also taught me to talk to service people, mostly men, when necessary about repairing my car. You made sure I was comfortable with taking no prisoners and could speak about vehicles with confidence.

You showed me the importance of being myself - always. You gave me strength of character by giving me your genes, but you went a step further and made me feel that who I was was important and that I mattered in this world. I always was led to believe that the world needed ME - just the way I was, my strengths and weaknesses. It wasn't necessary to put on aires or attempt to be something I wasn't. "I" was good enough. In fact, "I" was GREAT.

You gave me an ability to weave interesting stories that has hugely impacted my life. From my very early years, sitting on your lap listening to yours, to the present day when I long to hear all about your childhood and mission trips, you have trained me to communicate effectively and interestingly.

You have poured out affection on me in such a way that some people would call us "mushy". In fact, many people do. Kissing, hugging, and words of encouragement and affection were never in short supply around our home. We always felt nurtured and loved.

You loved my mother. Oh, how you loved my mother. You made me yearn for that kind of love in marriage. Even today, the sacrificial love that you demonstrate towards her sets a high standard for all of your children.

You were so much more than just a Father. You were and are a Dad, a Grandpa, an example of the best. You never fall short in expending whatever energy is necessary to love us, even though we're all grown and gone now, with families of our own (and some of us, with grandchildren of our own). You continue to treat us like your children, listening, advising, comforting, hugging, supporting.

You are and will always be Daddy Extraordinaire. You are the example that all our husbands strive for, the one we know will always be there for us.

I love you, Papa, and always will. You gave me life, not only before birth, but every day since. But life was just the beginning. You gave me and my siblings so much more. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

There is no way to adequately communicate all you mean, but I know you understand without me having to explain. And the Lord has not failed to notice. Your reward will be great in due time but, for now, thank you, Papa. Happy Father's Day.

The Yin and Yang

The entire school year, I can't wait for Summer. I hate saying goodbye to my children every morning and ushering them out the door to spend their day with someone else. I grieve the entire 9 months they're in school. I've considered home-schooling, but know myself well enough to know we'd spend all our time playing and they'd graduate from high school at 35, complete idiots. So I send them out the door each weekday, dying a little inside, and count the minutes until they get back home and tell me everything they can remember so I can share in some small part in their day.

Sounds pretty sad, doesn't it. It's just that I had children later in life, after I had already had my career, and THEY were the only things I wanted to do in the world. Raise children. Stay at home with them. Read to them. Snuggle them. Kiss their boo-boo's, celebrate their successes, be at their side day and night. All too soon, they hit 5 and started Kindergarten.

All that said, they've been out of school now 3 weeks, and they're starting to get on my nerves. I have a good friend that was talking with a Catholic priest, a young man who has recently been ordained, and sharing her struggles in life. She shared how badly she wants children and her grief over not having more. Then they moved onto another subject - her frustration with the children she has. The priest was a little confused. It seems he had trouble grasping the concept of wanting more children while wanting to kill (at times) the ones you already have. She laughingly told me this story, knowing I would understand. Of course I understood. Any mother would understand.

And that's the very complexity of emotions I'm experiencing today. If I have one more crying child come to me complaining that one or the other sibling kicked or hit him or her, I think I'm going to scream. But do I want to send them back to school? The mere thought makes my blood run cold.

We Mom's dance this funny dance between exhausting, sheer love and urge to kill. At times we understand completely the animals in nature that eat their young. But just let one of the children fall off a swing or trip running down the hall, and all those protective instincts kick in.

Ah, Motherhood. So duplicitous, so lovely. So requiring of God's mercy. Send it like rain, Lord, falling from Heaven.

Want to hear more about our Vacation?

More details from our vacation.

Deanna's class was studying homonyms the last two weeks of school. They learned weather and whether, due and dew, sew and sow, deer and dear, fairy and ferry, etc.

"Mama," Deanna asked one morning on the way to school, "what's a 'ferry'?"

"Something you ride on that takes you across water," I explained. I went on to tell her about the hovercrafts that cross the English Channel. I explained that some ferries are just for people and some transport cars. She was very interested, as was Dane who was also sitting in the car listening.

So what did we find on our way to the Outer Banks when we stopped at a Welcome Center for information on Bike Paths? A free ferry going from Cape Hatteras to Ocracoke Island. One morning, we took off for my first attempt at parasailing (they wouldn't take me that day - the Captain was still in bed). After making reservations for the next day, we decided to head south and look at some of the lighthouses on the islands. We ended up at the Ferry and, after waiting for about 45 minutes, were ushered onto one. The kids were ecstatic. It really was cool. They all jumped out and we had this very strange sensation when the boat started moving and the car was sitting still. I was sitting in the van and could see things passing by the window, but the van wasn't moving.

We had quite a long ride since one of the engines went out and the pilot brought the ferry back into port. Just as they started unloading, making people back their cars off an extremely crowded boat, the pilot announced that the engine was repaired. They closed the gate and sent us on our way. It was a 1/2 hour ride, even without the delay, and the children got to see dolphin in the Sound.

We exited at Ocracoke, turned around, and headed right back. I got Daelyn to sleep in his carseat for the return trip and the kids and other adults stood at the back of the boat, enjoying the ocean breeze and sights. When we finally returned to Hatteras, we headed for the historic Cape Hatteras Lighthouse. Deanna's sandal had broken, so I gave her my shoes. Don took all the kids up to the top while I limped around on one sandal, looking like a refugee.

On the way back to our condo, we drove past a huge snake slithering through the grass towards a marsh. He was on my side and moving very fast. We saw another snake, also, at the Welcome Center I mentioned earlier. I was standing on a boardwalk along the side of the Intercoastal Waterway. We were watching a turtle I had pointed out to the children. He swam under the boardwalk and, in his place, a huge water snake swam out, right underneath my feet. I screamed. It took me quite by surprise. I'm not a person who's fearful of creatures. Spiders don't frighten me, nor bats or rats or cockroaches or any other animal that most people are at least mildly frightened of. But, give me a snake, and I go to shaking. They are the only real animal I'm truly afraid of. And afraid is a little of an understatement.

We also climbed huge sand dunes in Jockey's Ridge State Park and the kids slid down, we watched hang gliders in training, we flew kites on the dunes like the Wright Brothers, some of us visited the Wright Brothers Memorial in Kitty Hawk (also part of the Outer Banks), the kids and Don rode their bikes, we swam in 3 different pools and in the ocean, we walked and enjoyed sunsets over the Atlantic, we hunted for shells, we saw amazing sealife that we couldn't identify and some we could (such as horseshoe crabs and skates in the surf), we played cards, we watched Sci-Fi and Animal Planet, Deanna scared some lady at the pool with the remote-control shark Don bought her, and we shopped - a Tanger's Factory Outlet and a Christmas store!! I made a good dent in my Christmas shopping.

Anyway, dinner's ready and we need to eat. All-in-all, we had a great and memorable time, despite the surf problems. Another great vacation for the Doughty family.

Dane's Birthday

Today was Dane's birthday. He turned 7. In an effort to nip the "every-year-birthday-party" thing in the bud, Don and I were adamant with Dane that we were not going out to eat this year, nor would there be a big party. We just got back from vacation and we're going camping next week in honor of his birthday (his choice of things to do back when we first started talking about his birthday, several months ago). So, to gloss things over a little, I told him I'd make anything he wanted for dinner and we could invite Grandma and Grandpa down to eat in celebration.

As I sat Sunday night at the kitchen table, trying to flesh out the next month's menus so I could do the grocery list for Don, I asked Dane yet again what he wanted for his birthday dinner.

"I don't know, Mom," he responded blandly. "Maybe pizza."

"We have pizza every Thursday night, son," I reasoned with him, "and your birthday is on a Wednesday. Isn't there something else you'd like?"

He just couldn't think of anything. Dane likes almost all the foods I make - ham and broccoli quiche, marinaded pork tenderloin ("Is there anymore of that good chicken left?"), meatloaf . . . So why he couldn't come up with anything for his birthday was a mystery to me.

In an effort to take a break from the menus, I invited him to stroll around the house with me and check out my gardens and Sissy's cabbages that she's growing for school. When we got to the herb garden, we were both surprised at how well my basil was growing.

"Gosh, it's really gotten big," I grinned from ear to ear. "Just think. In another week or so, I'll be able to do my first harvest and make Pesto."

"That's it!!!!" Dane yelled exuberantly. "I want your homemade Pesto Chicken for my birthday."



Early this morning, I harvested my first batch of basil and began the process of making Pesto. I took chicken breasts out to thaw and then coated them in Pesto on both sides and let them sit. This afternoon, I put them in a slow oven to tenderize and baste in the Pesto as they cooked.

In the meanwhile, Grandma and Grandpa called yesterday to be sure this was Dane's Seventh Birthday. They have a family tradition that they started with the grandkids, of which Dane is #14. When each grandchild turns 7, Grandpa rents a plane and a pilot from the local private airfield and takes that grandchild up for a 1/2 hour tour of the city. When Deanna went up, the pilot let her land the plane. He let her try different maneuvers in the air and thought she was a natural, so he decided to let her try her hand at landing. He talked her through it and she did a wonderful job. Dane was chomping at the bit for his turn.

Grandpa called me back last night to tell me he had a 3:00 p.m. appointment to take Dane up and we needed to meet him at the airstrip. One of Dane's friends turned 7 yesterday and his mother took him and another boy to see the movie "Cars", so Dane started asking this morning if we could do the same today.

"You have two choices. You can either go see the movie or I'll take you to Chuck E. Cheese for lunch right after soccer camp." I secretly prayed he'd choose Chuck E. Cheese, since I wasn't sure we'd have enough time to pick him up from soccer camp at noon, feed him lunch, get to a matinee, and still make it to the airfield on time. He chose Chuck E. Cheese, and I told him he could invite a friend.

After spending the morning working on Pesto and clearing off the dining room table for his birthday dinner (that's where we dumped everything when we unloaded the van Sunday night), we took off like mad for his friend's house, picked him up, then headed to the school. We got to our destination around 12:30 and the kids had a wonderful time, as did I. (I always do, by the way. I LOVE Chuck E. Cheese. I know all the angles. For $10.67 today, we got 4 drinks, a large pepperoni pizza with extra sauce that fed my three kids, our guest, myself, and a friend of mine who joined us, and 60 tokens for the kids to use. When we left, we had enough tickets for each child to pick several nice gifts out of the display cabinet, something they ALL love!! Dane got a balloon and crown on the way in and a coupon for a free ice cream on the way out. We were all very happy.)

I told the kids I had to be at an appointment at 3:00. Dane's friend asked if I'd drop him at home first, but I'd already cleared the airport thing with his mother, so I explained that I didn't have time to take him home right then. As we approached the field, Daelyn sang out, "There's Sissy's airport" which is what they've called it ever since Deanna had her flight with her Grandpa.

"Not for much longer," Dane responded. When I asked what he meant, he explained that Grandpa takes all his babies flying when they turn 7, so he expected either today or tomorrow he'd get to go up in a plane and it'd become HIS airport. I chuckled as I turned into the parking lot, waved to Mom and Dad who were just exiting their car, and parked next to them. Right behind me, my niece pulled in and parked on the other side of Grandma and Grandpa. Dane still didn't get the full picture.

He got his flight. The pilot let him take the yoke for a while in the air and taught him some basics. He loved seeing our city from above and it made his day for him. Dane's uncle and godfather arrived just after us and Don made it there just after Dane took off but was waiting for his baby when Dane touched down.

We hurried home after sending Don, Dane, and Dane's friend after a cake. I realized as we were walking into Chuck E. Cheese that, in my fretting about Pesto, I had completely forgotten about a cake for my son. Thank goodness for Kroger. Don arrived home with a vanilla two-layer, strawberry-filled cake with whipped icing. YUMMY!!

Grandma and Grandpa have a houseguest, an old friend, who joined us for dinner. Afterwards, Grandma and her guest, Dane, Deanna, and I went out on the deck and played cards until dark. I just finished cleaning up the kitchen, content with the day. Dane had lots of fun, albeit mostly down-home fun, and a special meal. He got to ride in a plane (his first time in a small, non-commercial one), got to go to Chuck E. Cheese, got great presents, and enjoyed every minute. I think Don and I succeeded in pushing the "not every year needs a big party" agenda.

I just can't figure out why a 7 year old would choose Pesto Chicken and Honied Carrots for his birthday meal. Dane continues to amaze me at every turn. He's awfully grown up at the ripe old age of 7.

Happy Birthday, my sweet thing. Mommy loves you more than you will every know. And I'm proud of you, son. I couldn't ask for anything more from you than what you give to the Lord right now. Keep putting him first and you'll always be as happy and wonderful as you are at 7.

The Beach

We returned last night around 5:00 p.m. from vacation. We went to the Outer Banks in North Carolina. The beaches in that area are called "The Graveyard of the Atlantic" because there are so many sandbars and hazardous surf conditions that there have been thousands of shipwrecks. The surf took its toll on us, as well. The children weren't able to go out very far and, on Friday, our last day on the beach, I was riding waves in when another wave lifted me up and flipped me in two like a pretzel. I wrenched my back and had trouble standing up at first. The lifeguard rushed down and said that they have lots of back and spinal cord injuries in that area because of the fierceness of the undertow combined with the angle of the beach coming down to the surf.

Anyway, despite not having a great beach experience, the rest of the trip was awesome. I went parasailing, something I've wanted to do for many years but not had the opportunity.

Much more to pass along in future posts, but Dane is in soccer camp this week and waiting to be picked up, so I've got to run.

Hope you are all enjoying the beginnings of summer.